


tighten up on your reins

by Vile_Astraia



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Day 1: Exhibitionism and Voyeurism, Exhibitionism, F/M, Kinktober, Kinktober 2019, Kylo makes the Skywalker Ghosts Proud, Married Sex, Some Tasteless Freudian Nonsense, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-10 16:06:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20854526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vile_Astraia/pseuds/Vile_Astraia
Summary: Instinct takes over, and takes her, roughly, her unabashed cries filling the room.





	tighten up on your reins

“I think,” Rey’s knee wobbles at the side of his hip,  _ “no.” _

Ben barely pauses as his cock runs slowly along her very wet center. The rich sensation flexes in his belly, and he quells the slight irritation that she needs to stop and check up on the housemother for the younglings or walk through another staff sequence before bed, before sheathing him inside her, before finally paying attention to her husband for the first time that day. 

He had thought he was finally getting it, but here she does falter, her sternum fluttering under his thumb from the hand he has hooked under one arm to help settle her into his lap. 

Her little expression of surprise goes unnoticed. His strong arms have banded around her and he’s not letting go. 

He pushes insistently against her. 

_ “No?” _

Rey is staring intently over his shoulder, her look not her usual far-away, busy distraction. She’s looking at something. 

“What is it?” he adds, the petulance leeched from his voice. It’s very quiet in their bedroom. Her breaths come short and fast. 

“It’s…” Rey grounds herself on his shoulders, pushing up to look across the room. 

A blue glow reflects in her eyes. 

She settles down self-consciously, ignoring the ragingly hard cock between them, to hide herself shyly behind his huge chest from whatever was over their shoulder. But the blue glow tells him enough. 

He grunts, pulling her closer protectively.

“Who,” his hands strum up and down her trembling spine, “has the  _ audacity _ to appear and interrupt us now?”

She winces at the murder in his tone. 

“I don’t want to say.”

His thighs flex, a little jerk of frustrated exertion, and it’s only then that Rey notices the charge to him is not diminished by the distraction or even the audience.

“Tell him to leave, whoever he is.”

Luke? Anakin? His namesake, Ben? 

He’s spoken to those ghosts before. 

He wants them to leave him the hell alone now. 

Leave Rey alone, most importantly, as she was his now. 

She shakes like a leaf in his lap, pinned between whoever was staring back at her and the caress of his skin against her molten center. Rey keens when he touches between her legs curiously. 

“Or welcome them, from the look on your face you want to,” he muses with his delicate, studious tone. A flush warms under her freckles. She bows her head in shame then, burrowed in his massive frame. 

He is unkind: he bounces her in his lap. His bare thigh slides, log-thick and heavy, between her splayed legs and she gives a helpless squeak and a low moan in quick succession. Her breasts bounce, high enough to be caught by their visitors eyes.

“Ben!” she hisses cruelly, at least more deadly than the abashed expression on her face should allow, her nails digging into his bare arms. He can’t see anything from his seat on the edge of the bed, but Rey can leverage herself over his bulk to perform for their audience.

And from every little sound she makes: she likes it.

His wife grinds slowly down on his thigh, her teeth digging into her lower lip, her eyes lowered to the skin of his collarbone but flickering up, curiously up, and he feels the clench when she locks eyes with their witness. 

“You like this,” he dares, dragging her hips up and down his thigh once more, slowly. Her slickness coats him in a shiny stream, and Rey is limp in his arms. “Makes me curious. Who is it?”

There’s something better in the not knowing, the paranoia filed down to a specific point seems too nauseating. 

“Not going to say,” she’s breathless, reading him so well, her hand cupping his face, and tearing her eyes from their voyeur to his. She nips at his lips. “I will say that they want us to...they want us to be making babies already.”

“Babies?” his brow furrows but not unpleasantly. 

“Mhmm,” she laughs gently into his hungry kiss, “can I get off before we decide that’s what we’re doing? I can’t think. I…”

She gasps when his cock presses just enough inside to make her feel the stretch.

If she couldn’t think before: now it would be impossible.

“Anything you want,” he promises, watching her tight breasts, nipples positively distended and red, bounce in his face, and in plain view of whoever seems to be so concerned with the two of them breeding. Is it a warm family motivation? Giving grandchildren? Or being a good little Jedi Master, making younglings for a mentor?

He shudders at some of the thoughts, but then puffs up because his cock is the important object that this exercise centers around. She can ride him as enthusiastically as she wants if it’s so good for her that she wants to show it off. 

To whomever. 

As long as he doesn’t have to get slammed with the specific knowledge that Leia is watching, or something.

Would that be so bad? Having his mother know that he treated his woman right? Or his father, or some other male relative know it, for that matter? That he worshipped Rey, loved her beyond himself, let her do anything she wished with his trust and his body and his heart?

“They waited a long time, praying to the force that you’d feel loved,” she whispers into his mouth, her hips rocking to take him deeper, “that you’d have this with another person.”

“Sex?”

Rey places a fluttery hand over the beat of his heart, shaking her head. 

“Happiness. Understanding.”

“You’re taking all the credit. You just want them here to praise  _ you.” _

She laughs into his mouth, panting heavily as he stuffs her full, using nothing but the weight of her body to propel her down. She’s using him, fingers digging into his hair and riding, her body moving like she was trying to…

Make someone proud. 

Perhaps it’s the audience itself that spurs the same performance in him. Pride. Sincerity. Shamelessness. 

Instinct takes over, and takes her, roughly, her unabashed cries filling the room. 

After she’s had her fill, been properly displayed and fucked and forced to fall apart, he comes apart inside her with the phantom sense of thunderous applause. 

**Author's Note:**

> Depending on the prompt there may be some non-con coming up: keep an eye on archive warnings of updates and I'll let you know in the tags/summary when that warning has been changed.


End file.
